Red Hood Chronicles

Chapter One

By the time Vesta killed her sixth opponent, her hands dripped with their mingled blood. But she couldn’t stop, not unless she wanted her own blood to coat theirs. 

She flicked her wrist, shaking off the excess blood slicking her grip before turning to the last fighter: a behemoth of a man wielding a mace just as large. He had hung back until now, watching the other prisoners attempt to earn their freedom in a duel against her. Some had rushed, grappled, tried to pin her in a corner of three versus one. All slaughtered without thought or remorse.

He wanted Vesta weak and winded.

His mistake.

Vesta blew at tendrils of brown hair creeping over her sight, her caramel eyes flickering over every muscle tensing on the man’s arms. The Guild leaders, who watched from plush seats overlooking the arena, had taught Vesta to study the limbs, not the face. They would always flex first to give her the warning she needed.

That flex was how she’d dodged a high swing earlier and took a man’s hand clean off.

Flipping the blade to a more comfortable grip, Vesta and the stranger stalked each other around the edge of the small arena. Silence rang around them, with only the sounds of her harsh breaths in her ears. Iron permeated the air, the sharp smell searing her nose and down her throat. She wondered if there would ever come a day when killing a man would make her feel guilty. If she did, she’d need a new career. 

And new parents.

The prisoner dragged the mace through the sand behind him, confident despite having witnessed her blood bath, and his eyes frequently darted to the blood soaking her pants. Vesta couldn’t wait to remove the smug grin of satisfaction from his face. Or his whole head.

Quickly tiring of the pointless stalking, Vesta made her move. 

She dropped, pulling a second smaller dagger from her boot. The man reacted as she knew he would. The perceived disadvantage was too good for him to pass up. The mace quickly moved in an upswing that flung sand in her direction. But Vesta was already rolling out of the path. 

Once upright, she spun and tossed the knife, watching it sink into the soft flesh between his spine and shoulder blade. She knew she’d embedded it through the cartilage around his ribs, nesting the blade in his right lung. 

He dropped the mace out of reflex, and before the man’s knees hit the ground, Vesta had launched onto his back, ripping her long blade through his throat, severing veins and arteries.

The dead man toppled as Vesta landed, limbs wide over the still corpse. She bent, pulled her blade from his shoulder before shaking it off and heading towards the ledge that the two guild leaders sat upon. The silence of the otherwise empty arena pressed in on her skull after only the sound of violence sun in her ears for so long. Her body shook with adrenaline, and she did her best to stay still as the matron rose in front of her. 

Pride reflected in the woman’s caramel eyes as she appraised Vesta, her red hood billowing slightly behind her as she took poised steps forward. The man stayed seated however, watching the interaction closely, fingers drumming slowly along the armrest of his throne.

“Happy twenty-second birthday, Vesta. You do the Red Hoods proud,” the matron praised, brushing a stray brown curl back into the pile atop her head.

Excitement bubbled behind Vesta’s lips, but she pressed them shut, biting the inside of her cheek and giving a nod in response.

“But you were toying with the last prisoner. Your aim is skilled enough that you should have severed his spine instead of the shoulder. Always aim to kill.”

A sour taste overtook her mood, and Vesta gritted out, “Yes, ma’am.”

The woman scoffed. “Ma’am? Just because I’m giving you advice as the heir to our guild doesn’t mean you have to demote your mother to ma’am.”  Her mom’s smile lightened her harsh features. The action crinkled her eyes and highlighted her smile lines. “You did good, dear.”

Vesta’s father stood, coming next to her mother and placing a hand along her waist. Seeing the fearsome Hereclese be so gentle with the legendary Megdelena would shock any outside the Red Hood Guild, but all Vesta felt was a spark of love for her parents and a touch of grief for their incomplete family. 

But Vesta wouldn’t let it spoil what was happening. 

She had worked too hard.

After her father placed a kiss in the large curls haloing her mother’s soft face, he turned his piercing gaze on Vesta. His face softened only slightly, the tension in his shoulder slacking incrementally as he evaluated Vesta’s stance, noting the blood but also the lack of injury.

“So,” Vesta blurted, “did I pass?”

As he continued to stare, Vesta noticed red from the sun had settled over his nose and shoulders. Her father always seemed sunburnt, forgetting his skin was more fragile than most in the Keep or determined to beat the weakness altogether. 

After a few moments, Megdelena sighed, nudging him with her elbow.

“My heart, please. You can’t just leave her wondering. Answer her.”

Finally, with a huff, a small smile graced Hereclese’s face as he said, “You passed.”

A shout of excitement escaped her lips before Vesta could stop it, a smile plastered across her face. Pride filled her, near bursting out of her pores. She wished she could run and scream her success around the Keep like she’d done as a kid with every mastered weapon or defensive move. The urge to scream in cheer bubbled underneath, but Vesta called on all her considerable training to hold it under the surface.

“We’ll announce it tonight at the celebration, along with your first assignment.”

“So get cleaned up,” her mom continued, “We want to see a warrior queen tonight. The whole Guild needs to, understand?”

“Yes,” Vesta tried to taper her excitement. “I will.”

“Then go—you only have a few hours.” Hereclese motioned off. “We’ll see you there.”

Vesta nodded quickly, then raced to her room. 

She dashed through the hallways of the Keep, around the guild members in-between contracts, past the trainees in the gardens practicing their stances with dull wooden swords, and almost tripped over the maids-people who were scrubbing linens in shallow basins of dirty water. Every person she passed took one look at her face and joy broke out. The celebratory energy was buzzing throughout the Keep, and Vesta could not wait for the evening to arrive.

Slamming the door to her room, Vesta leaned against it, sinking slowly to the floor with her legs sprawled out. The fatigue was settling in her joints. She began the meticulous task of peeling off her shoes, undoing the laces, shaking and sweaty fingers making it difficult. Once both had been yanked off, she tossed them into the corner.

Then came her hair.

Vesta had never been one to care much for hairstyles past their practicality. That was why her hair was currently in two thick braids running down her back, but the fresh coating of blood made the once clean look more matted and black. She undid the ties at the end of one braid, running her still shaking fingers through it. Humming a tune under her breath, she scratched at her scalp as she removed the style, the task bringing her back to neutral. By the time she’d finished with the second braid, the shaking throughout her body stopped. 

Not wanting to fuss about anything, Vesta dunked her head into a bucket of cold water and scrubbed as best as she could. Then with quick work, she removed her sticky clothes with a groan, pulling on her skin where the blood had begun drying. She did a quick swipe and scrub of a cloth dipped in the same water bucket until she removed the speckles from her skin that had begun to crust.

A knock on her door put an end to Vesta’s hasty wash, as she ran to open the door, water dripping from her locks on the way. She wrapped herself in a robe and yanked the door open. 

“Were you seriously going to go to the party like that? You could do much better with the time you have left,” The fiery red-headed girl smirked, hands on her hips.

“No Sarine, I was going to go naked. It’s not like anyone is going to be looking at me anyway.”

Sarine rolled her eyes and pushed her way into Vesta’s room. 

“Why yes, come in. I have all the time in the world.” Vesta closed the door with her hip, crossing her arms in the process. Her best friend and handmaid threw herself onto her bed, shoving Vesta’s blankets around to her own comfort. “Are you here to judge me or help, because I’m sure one of those is your job,” Vesta quipped, a smirk on her face.

“Those two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Sarine replied, giving a lazy smile and propping her head on her hand. “Did you figure out what you’re going to wear? You only turn twenty-two once. It’s a big deal.”

Vesta crossed the room to a large trunk and threw the lid open. She began pulling out outfits and tossing them onto her bed as she spoke. “I’ll finally get assigned. No more mock battles against prisoners or other hunters. No more chores in the house. No more weird looks from the other residents.”

“No more watchful eyes from Hereclese or Megdelena every time you train.” Sarine picked up a red skirt with gold embroidery along the hem, creating an intricate design up the right side and surrounding a deep slit. “Wear this.”

Vesta scrunched her nose.

Her friend huffed and got out of the bed, shoving Vesta away from the trunk. “You’re going to wear this with the matching top.”

“Just because you’re my handmaid doesn’t mean you can boss me around,” Vesta said, crossing her arms and pouting slightly. “I was looking for the green one.”

Sarine’s voice came muffled from deep inside the trunk. “Unfortunately for you, the green one was torn in your last attempt to go with a suitor and has yet to be returned.”

“Ali was warned not to touch me. He’s lucky I only stabbed him lightly.”

Sarine snorted, before pulling a red top up victoriously and standing. “There is no such thing as a light stabbing. Now here,” she threw the top at Vesta. “Get dressed so I can do something about that rat’s nest you created of your hair.”

Vesta snatched the skirt and changed, holding in her smile when she caught her final dressed form in the mirror. The red top was a band across her chest with a soft sheer fabric wrapping around one shoulder and across her back to tuck back in. The skirt flowed and glittered in the sunlight streaming through her window. 

She absentmindedly ran her fingers along the gold stitching on the bodice, noting the constellation’s placement, The Lion forming on her shoulder.

“Told you you’d look good. Sit.” Sarine shoved Vesta into a chair and began yanking on her hair with a brush.

“You’re acting like I’m going to get married. All of these are pointless, anyways. I should be in warrior’s clothing, not these flimsy fabrics. What if we’re attacked?”

“Then you’ll stab them with one of the thirty knives you’ll find a way to hide in this outfit. Now, stop moving.”

Vesta wiggled purposely and Sarine stabbed her with a hairpin. When Vesta yelped, Sarine only giggled and said, “What? It was a light stabbing. You’ll live.”

“Touche.”

Vesta sat straighter, mindful not to move her head. As she watched her reflection in the mirror, flashes of Ruaan’s reaction to her accomplishments today filled her vision. 

Her chest tightened, and a knot formed in her throat as anxiety crawled up her spine. She swallowed it down then took a few deep breaths, holding them on the inhale, then a slow release out. She knew the importance of regulating big feelings. Things like nerves, sadness, or even joy could cause accidents in the field.

Her brother learned that the hard way.

Pressure built in her eyes, but Vesta blinked it back. She’d hoped Ruaan’s death would get easier with time, but six months wasn’t long enough to soothe the wound. She was beginning to wonder if anything ever would.

Sarine pulled on Vesta’s hair, and she met her friend’s eyes in the mirror.

“I miss him,” Vesta whispered, taking in a quick gulp of air.

“I know you wish Ruaan were here, but that doesn’t take away from your accomplishments. You deserve this celebration. And he is singing your praises from Valeim. All of your ancestors are. Hundreds of years of The Guild are with you today. And that’s why you’ll look like the queen you are destined to be at this celebration.”

Tears pricked at Vesta’s eyes, and she rubbed them. “Thank you,” she replied, voice tight and rough. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right. Now, put on the band and you’ll be ready.”

Vesta picked the item up and looked at the sparkling gold, etched to look like a snake wrapping around her arm, red rubies dotting the spine and making two eyes at the top. Slipping it up her arm, Vesta flexed slightly, testing the material. It seemed to move with Vesta, expanding as her bicep grew. She relaxed, and it shrank back, perfectly molding to her arm.

“It’s enchanted,” Sarine said, pinning one of the many intricate braids into place. “It will stay as long as you want it there.”

“I’ll never understand why we use enchanted items when we hunt those who create them. Just because it’s jewelry doesn’t mean it isn’t still magic. These kinds of items always end up hurting people when they’re not handled by those who are properly trained and managed.”

Sarine shrugged, “Because this one is simple and safe. And it’s not hurting anyone. There’s a difference between innocent and malignant magic. You’d do well to remember that in the real world. Not everything is as clear cut as the cozy world within our walls. Many people wield magic in our world with the purest hearts and intentions. And there are others with vast powers who wouldn’t know responsibility if it poked them in the scalp.”

Sarine patted Vesta’s shoulder, with a look in her eyes reminding Vesta that despite their close ages, Sarine had seen the world outside of the Keep — Vesta had not. It was tradition that all hunters remained inside the Keep until they completed training. The council said it was to ensure young hunters made it to adulthood, fully prepared to go out and defend the world from the monsters plaguing it. Sarine had come after her own village was plagued by a wyvern when she was a teenager, and had quickly become Vesta’s best friend and handmaiden. 

Sarine kissed the top of Vesta’s head, breaking her out of her thoughts, before stepping back so she could stand and admire herself.

Vesta took in the braids wrapping from the front of her head into the back, varying thicknesses seeming to wrap around each other and form an even larger braid until they met in the back, where some of her maple brown hair still swayed down. The braids all formed into a bun near the middle back of her head, and she ran her fingers along it admiringly.

“Stunning as always, Sarine. I’ll never achieve this on the roads.”

Sarine just snorted. “You’ll have no need for styles such as this. Now, be on your way. The celebration should be in full swing, as they’ve no doubt started early. I’ll meet you there after I change.”

Vesta nodded at her friend, glancing once more at herself in the mirror.

She no longer saw the lanky child she had once been. Staring back at her was a warrior. Strength wrapped in feminine energy, beauty, and grace. 

This was her new start. This would be her chance to become a legend in the world of hunters. To no longer live in Ruaan’s shadow. To no longer just be the daughter of Hereclese and Megdalena. To stand on her own and prove her strength as the new heir to the Red Hood Guild.

To slay the monsters of the world.